


Welcome Home, Son

by Arae



Category: The Exorcist (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Vows are a very abstract concept, all is well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 11:20:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15706191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arae/pseuds/Arae
Summary: In Tomas' arms, his world doesn’t spin anymore. This is stability like he’s never known it before. His head emerges from the water; the sea is calm, so unlike the perpetual storm that his life has always been. The waves are gently carrying his body safe to shore.





	Welcome Home, Son

**Author's Note:**

> Come join us on The Exorcist's Discord server! <3 https://discord.gg/twkzTdU

The wind blowing against his tired face is warm, or perhaps it only feels that way because of all the lights suspended above his head; of all the villagers dancing around him like time is nothing more than a distant and insignificant concept they collectively decided to push away until the sun’s next ascent over the horizon. 

Tonight is all about celebrating; Marcus isn’t aware of what exactly, as the village was already preparing for the festivities when they finished the exorcism, but everyone seems to be deeply involved in it. The few houses in the epicenter of the party are proudly decorated, string lights hanging between them and above Marcus’ head; thin alleys of small bulbs creating an almost mystical atmosphere.

Next to the bench on which Marcus is sitting are scattered empty goblets, some of which spilled their content onto the grass as they were dropped and forgotten by their owner in a moment of haste. 

A half-empty beer in hand, Marcus is thoughtlessly glancing at his surroundings. Children are running around without a clear destination in mind; people are dancing shoeless on the grass to the sound of fiddles and guitars playing. Sometimes a voice joins the blend, singing lyrics Marcus can barely understand due to the harmony of music and laughter around him. 

It’s lively and Marcus can’t help but be reminded of the small villages he would just be passing through for an exorcism, back when he was doing this with nothing but a washed-out black leather jacket and a charcoal-covered bible under his arm. He always only got to hear the music at night, a thick wall and a demon separating him from all the joy and euphoria of the celebrations. 

But tonight, Marcus gets to enjoy the music front row and it feels like the first gulp of fresh air in decades. The sensation is akin to being able to breathe again after being submerged underwater for so long, and it started the moment they cast a demon out of a young woman who took his hand and weakly whispered, _God bless you_. _Both of you_. 

So, as exhausted as they had been, when the villagers had asked Tomas and Marcus to stay for a while, even offering to house them in an empty cabin next to a lake and a few minutes away from the village afoot, it hadn’t taken much time for them to make their decision. An entire week of sleeping on a real bed, how could they refuse such an opportunity? 

A week later, under the lights and swinging to the music, it’s like the entire village is becoming alive, and so is Tomas. 

Marcus catches glimpses of him at random as he dances among the villagers. From time to time, his eyes fall on his friend’s moving body, on his face and the beaming smile on it, before Tomas disappears into the crowd again. He certainly moves a lot; it’s like he’s making up for a whole week spent with a creature from Hell, the same bible verses slipping from his tongue, again and again, without any rest. 

Marcus didn’t really peg him for a dancer, and Tomas isn’t quite the expert but what he lacks in skills, he makes up in enthusiasm. The people around him seem to appreciate the fervor of the young priest. Having a man such as Tomas dance his worries away like that certainly seems to blow a bit of youth in the village. 

Marcus is pulled out of his thoughts when he makes eye contact with Tomas, and the man grins at him before being dragged back to the center of the crowd by a woman who’s visibly leaning a little bit too much on the inebriated side. Still, it goes unnoticed, as many people are in a worst state than she is. 

He watches the way she not-so-innocently wraps an arm around his waist as they move, leans a little too close to him, laughs right in front of his face, perhaps more than it would be acceptable in a normal situation, if Marcus had something to say about it. 

And, as observant as he is –– a necessity for an exorcist ––, he can’t help but notice how Tomas responds to the touch, how he laughs as she whispers into his ear. He tries not to think about what she could be saying. Other people soon join the fun, because it seems like they can’t stay away from Tomas for too long. Marcus certainly can’t blame them. 

Tomas isn’t wearing his collar tonight. As Marcus observes him, it’s easy to forget his profession, to forget who they both are. Instead, he’s taken aback by how little effort it takes to imagine himself as being the one dancing with Tomas; being the one on the receiving end of such attention from him. He can imagine his own arm wrapped around Tomas’ waist, bringing their bodies closer as they dance and sing along to the song, not giving a damn about the villagers around them. In Marcus’ mind, they smile at them, clap even, as the pair quickly grows to be the highlight of the song. 

These kinds of thoughts started to become a much more common occurrence during the past few weeks. Marcus can’t pinpoint the exact moment they started becoming a problem, because he used to be quite skilled at suppressing or ignoring them. Perhaps it was due to the fact that they remained rare, especially when their routine was made up of demons spitting all kinds of bodily fluids at them; it’s not really the epitome of romance and erotism. 

But here, in this small and peaceful village, where their days are made of breakfasts in the early afternoon and tea breaks on the cabin's balcony, there’s nothing holding Marcus’ imagination back.  _What if I were to put a hand on his thigh while he’s sitting next to me? Would he push my hand away, would he cover it with his own or would he be too engrossed in his book to even notice?_

Suddenly, the atmosphere around him is too much. The villagers are moving too quickly, the music is too loud, the lights too bright. He needs to escape. 

So when he’s pretty sure Tomas isn’t looking, Marcus puts his beer down and stands up before sneaking away from the party, somewhere where he will be able to collect himself and forget about fantasies that will remain nothing but products from his treacherous imagination. 

He finds a clean spot of grass a few hundreds of feet away from the crowd and he sits down, reunited with the stars. It’s something they’ve started doing a lot. It began in the bed of the truck, whenever they were away from civilization enough for the stars to be visible and bright. They don’t really talk; they don’t need to, and they simply enjoy each other’s presence and the vast ocean of stars above their heads. 

Marcus can still hear the music, but also the sound of crickets in the night. It’s a perfect balance between the two; the audible joy of the village and the soothing melody of nature. 

He begins counting the stars, a ridiculous and almost childish attempt at forgetting all the things that have been on his mind lately. For a while, it surprisingly works. It works so well, actually, that Marcus doesn’t notice the person sneaking up behind him until he hears Tomas’ voice.

“Why did you leave the party?” His friend asks, as if it wasn’t in Marcus’ habits to ostracize himself as soon as there was more than a few people around him. 

“I needed some quiet time.”

Tomas seems to accept this as a valid answer but instead of going back to the party, he surprises Marcus by sitting down on the grass next to him. 

“I can’t remember the last time I went to a party like this,” Tomas starts with a little laugh, his voice remaining relatively low, as if he was afraid of disturbing the stars. Marcus can see the sweat on his body; he’s obviously still trying to recover from the hour he just spent dancing like there was no tomorrow. “I think it was in Mexico. I remember children dancing around me, and my Abuela chatting with other people while keeping an eye on me.” He smiles fondly at the memories. 

“I wasn’t the quietest kid.”

Marcus doesn’t say anything but gives him an apologetic smile. He knows how much Tomas misses her. 

“Anyway, it feels good to feel like I’m part of a community again.”

“They love you a lot, you know,” Marcus finally speaks. “I've seen several people check you out while you were dancing.”

Tomas laughs, turning his head and giving Marcus a small offended look. “That’s not true!”

“It is. I don’t think I could have gotten close to you with how they were all stuck to you like moths to the light.”

Instead of laughing at the joke, Tomas suddenly falls silent. He was observant enough to spot the seriousness beyond Marcus’ joke. “Did you want to dance with me?”

“With how that woman was clinging to you? I don’t think she would have shared, _hermano_.”

He can’t help himself. Marcus knows better than to be jealous of a woman whose name Tomas probably doesn’t even know; it was more about the fact of watching them and being reminded of what he couldn’t have. 

“What are you insinuating?”

“Nothing,” Marcus shrugs. 

“You’re unbelievable.”

Tomas shifts next to him and Marcus doesn’t have to turn his head to understand that he’s standing up. However, the hand extended in front of his face is rather unexpected. “Dance with me?”

The proposition is even more surprising. Marcus lets Tomas’ hand hang in the air and gives him a small uncomfortable laugh. Its meaning is pretty clear. _I don’t dance_. 

“Come on, Marcus, there’s only the two of us.”

That’s not the problem, Marcus thinks, and at the same time it exactly _is_ the problem. But surely Tomas isn’t aware of that. Marcus never shared any particular thought about dancing, positive or negative, so perhaps it would be safe to play the part of a man who simply dislikes dancing, instead of confessing the thoughts that had crossed his mind the moment Tomas’ suggestion had slipped past his lips. 

_Forgive me, Father, for I have thought about the feeling of his flesh against my own. For I have wished for his lips to descend upon mine. For I have craved to feel his fingers on my thighs and his mouth between them._

This is another boundary Marcus isn’t sure he can cross. Mostly because once he crosses it, he doesn’t know if he will be able to stop himself from crossing another. Holding Tomas so close to him, breathing in his scent, those are dangerous thoughts threatening to escalate into something that could change their relationship forever, for the better or the worst. Marcus isn’t sure which of those two outcomes scares him the most. 

_My last confession was, oh, it was too long ago._

But the more Marcus thinks about it, the smaller the threat becomes. His life changed so much in the past few months, why couldn’t he ignore the consequences just once? In this little paradise lost between the mountains, something fell into place. Something that makes him feel bigger than he actually is. 

So, Marcus takes Tomas’ hand and stands up, and telling the whole world to fuck off never felt so good. 

“I’m not that good at dancing. ‘Was a bit too busy playing with demons to take dance lessons.”

“I don’t care,” Tomas assures him. “I’ll teach you if I have to.”

Giving his friend a small laugh, Marcus tentatively wraps an arm around Tomas’ waist and lets the slow music coming from the distant party dictate their steps. As they clasp their hands together, Marcus silently thanks whoever is listening for the fact that Tomas didn’t drag him to the dance-floor among the villagers. This is definitely better. _Intimate_ , a little voice in his head whispers to him. 

For a while, no word is spoken. Everything is about enjoying the moment, how calm their lives have become, even if it won’t last. When Marcus brings their bodies a little closer so they’re connected at the waist, he feels the need to speak to justify the move, or to simply keep his mind off it. _There’s nothing wrong with it_ , he tries to quickly convince himself, and hopes Tomas doesn’t think too much of it. _It’s just dancing_.

“I wasn’t joking when I said they really like you, you know,” Marcus abruptly breaks the silence. “Every time I go to town, they keep telling me that you should become their new town priest.”

Tomas smiles and looks down for a second, and Marcus can’t help but loves to see what praise can do to this man’s beautiful face, how it turns pink with embarrassment, how Tomas starts mumbling because, _no, you’re exaggerating, that’s not true_. But it _is_ true and for once, Tomas seems aware of that. 

“It’s a small village, they’re not very discreet when it comes to that. I’ve even heard a few of them saying that they wouldn’t mind sinning if it meant I was the one absolving them from their sins,” He laughs before his voice becomes serious again. “But yeah, I’ve heard that they like me a lot.”

“How could they not?”

Tomas looks back up and their eyes meet, but he doesn’t seem to have anything to say to this; his mouth opens a few times as he tries to figure out what to reply before eventually closing for good. 

Silence falls again and for a few minutes, the mutual comfort they provide each other is enough. Despite years spent battling evil, building his own walls of protection against all kinds of danger around him, Marcus never felt as safe as he feels now. 

Tomas’ hand squeezes his own gently just as the other one tightens its grip on Marcus’ shoulder, and the world spins a little bit slower when his eyes settle on Tomas’ face. Tomas, with those big brown eyes of his and this gentle smile on his face, represents the same kind of stability and domesticity that this village so kindly offered him. Something he didn’t feel in a long time, if he ever did. 

And as Marcus allows himself to plunge deep into Tomas’ eyes, he understands something. It’s a sudden grasp of reality, a sweet epiphany wrapped up in olive skin and bible verses randomly thrown at him during long car rides under the burning summer sun. 

He’s staring right into his _home_ and home is staring back at him with what feels like the kindest smile that he was ever given.  

“The stars are beautiful tonight,” Tomas says, but Marcus knows he didn’t throw a single glance at the sky. 

“This isn’t really like one of our usual stargazing sessions, is it?”

Tomas smiles. “No, it’s not.”

The younger man’s tone of voice is pretty suggestive, and yet Marcus can’t help but think that maybe he’s reading this all wrong. But then Tomas starts leaning and almost every single one of his doubts evaporates as he closes his eyes and lets himself be pulled towards his friend. 

He breathes in, stores up some air into his used lungs and a few seconds later, their lips are brushing against each other. 

Marcus stops breathing. 

He thinks, this is it, _this is it_ , he could pull away but at the same time he’s pretty sure he couldn’t even if he tried. His grip on the back of Tomas’ shirt tightens but Marcus doesn’t move. Tomas seems to take this as his cue to go on, because he probably knows that Marcus wouldn’t initiate anything, that he’s still leaving him an exit door, a last chance to back away. And yet he thinks, _please don’t pull away, don’t call it a mistake, I don’t think I could handle it–_

Tomas’ lips start moving against his own, and Marcus feels like he can breathe again. 

His world doesn’t spin anymore. This is stability like he’s never known it before. His head emerges from the water; the sea is calm, so unlike the perpetual storm that his life has always been. The waves are gently carrying his body safe to shore. 

So, Marcus lets his broken self be led back to safety by the warm ocean of his heart, and his lips soon start moving in unison with Tomas’. 

They unclasp their hands a few seconds later, only for Marcus to wrap both of his arms around Tomas and bring their bodies fully against each other as he deepens the kiss, Tomas’ mouth willingly opening when his tongue asks for entrance. Tomas seems to enjoy it quite a lot, judging by the little needy sounds that escape his throat and by how his right hand makes its way up to Marcus’ neck, keeping their mouths connected. As if Marcus is going to break the kiss and pull away, especially now that he’s finally gotten a taste of the paradise that was taken away from him with a single piece of paper a few months ago. 

Their dancing came to a stop sometime during the kiss but none of them seems to have noticed, too focused on the other’s lips to care about such things. The music can still faintly be heard in the distance but instead of guiding their steps, it now guides their lips. 

The kiss eventually comes to a gradual end when they run out of air, but Marcus doesn’t dare open his eyes yet. He doesn’t want the moment to end, so he cups Tomas’ cheek and presses their foreheads together, just when Tomas lets out a small sigh of happiness. 

Oh, how he wishes he could know what’s going on inside of this man’s pretty head. 

They hold each other for a few seconds, none of them wishing to break their small and warm cocoon of privacy until Tomas pulls away a little bit, just to lazily rest his head against Marcus’ shoulder. 

“I don’t want the song to end.”

“Why?”

Tomas sighs. “Because it feels like if the song ends, everything will.”

 _The heart of a romantic and the soul of a poet_ , Marcus internally smiles. However, the look of sadness on Tomas’ face abruptly brings him back to the seriousness of the words. 

“Is this about your vows?”

“No, no, my vows…God put me in your path, Marcus. This can’t be for nothing. My vows are the Church’s will but you, Marcus, you are _His_ will.”

Marcus stands there, speechless, still trying to process what he just heard. According to some, Tomas’ words would be a blasphemy, but to Marcus they’re coming from the lips of an angel. How wrong could that be? 

“I’m just scared that tomorrow we’ll pretend nothing happened. ”

“We won’t.”

“Promise?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” Marcus says, and his heart feels a little bit lighter when Tomas cracks a smile. 

There’s a pause; Marcus’ arms are still wrapped around Tomas and the young priest doesn’t seem to want to part ways. There’s no music coming from the party; the musicians are most likely taking a small break after all the excitement from earlier. 

“Can I kiss you again?” Tomas asks and when Marcus sees him bite down on his bottom lip he thinks, _who wouldn’t give you everything you want when you do that?_

 _He’s got me wrapped around his little finger_ , Marcus realizes while cupping Tomas’ cheeks with both hands and leaning forward, as if the realization had never hit him before, through the entire six months they’ve spent on the road sharing shady motel rooms and early breakfasts in local dinners. _And it is exactly as it should be_. 

This time, the kiss is over before it truly started, but it’s filled with the same devotion as their first one. Despite having always been a bit clumsy with the act of expressing his feelings, Marcus puts as much emotion as he can into the kiss. A way of convincing Tomas with his lips and not his voice that it’s fine, that he wants it, that it’s a beginning instead of an end. In a way, he’s convincing himself too, because he’s equally as terrified of Tomas suddenly deciding that this was, in fact, a mistake. 

And with every press of their lips together, he tells Tomas, _see, the song has ended, but it doesn’t mean this has to end._

When they pull away for air, Tomas’ smile is so bright it could light up the place better than the strings of lightbulbs ever could. 

Tomas’ hand is drawing invisible patterns onto Marcus’ back and their feet slowly start to move again as a new dance takes shape, a much more intimate and private one. Something Marcus feels like no one is allowed to witness except God, the one who led Tomas to him. And Marcus thinks, thank you, _thank you for bringing him to me, thank you, my Lord, for shaping his lips so they would fit so perfectly against mine._

“You really didn’t notice? I was giving you clues, Marcus.”

“You know I’m not really good when it comes to this, whatever you want to name it.”

“You mean romance?”

“Yeah,” Marcus laughs. “See? You’re better at this than I am.”

Tomas doesn’t seem fazed by this. Instead, he looks amused. 

“Does that mean I’ll get to give you romance lessons?”

“Ah. We’ll see.”

Several minutes pass during which they don’t dare say a word, letting their steps momentarily dictate their lives, a sweet and slow dance punctuated by shared chuckles and chaste kisses, like two shy schoolboys discovering love for the first time. 

“We should go back to the party.”

Marcus hums, then moves closer to Tomas in a way that might as well already be an answer. “Just one more minute.” 

As soon as their lips make contact again, when he feels how Tomas is already leaning into his touch, silently begging for more, Marcus understands that no matter how hard they try, they won’t make it back to the party. 

 _I am leaving you with a gift—peace of mind and heart. And the peace I give is a gift the world cannot give. So do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid._ –– John 14:27

**Author's Note:**

> "Ships are launching from my chest  
> Some have names but most do not  
> If you find one, please let me know what piece I've lost  
> Peel the scars from off my back  
> I don't need them anymore  
> You can throw them out or keep them in your mason jars  
> I've come home"
> 
> "Welcome Home, Son" – Radical Face


End file.
